Proof of that was audible yesterday in the cracking voices of the bereaved, as gusts kept American flags flapping against a clear sky at the Postcards monument on the St. George Esplanade.

Part of the city's solemn remembrance of the attacks that brought the World Trade Center towers to the ground and killed nearly 3,000 people, the event brought several hundred to the curved, august sculpture to pay their respects.

Along with more than 40 representatives of Staten Island's 274 grieving families, Karen Ciaccio read the names of some of those lost; the last, her brother's. Her 11-year-old son Matthew standing close and clutching a photo of his uncle, Ms. Ciaccio read a poem by Rosanne Pillicane titled "If They Could Speak."

"Do not grieve and linger in the shadows of graves," she recited, before a fireman rang a single paean on a silver bell. "Go out into the sunshine and tell everyone that I was here. Let our enemy know that when we were together we lived, and worked and loved."

Nearby a dais stood full of politicians, including Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Borough President James P. Molinaro, Fire Commissioner Salvatore Cassano, and nearly all of Staten Island's state and local representatives. After a welcome statement from Joanne Nuzzo, who coordinated the event, the Staten Island Pipers and the U.S. Coast Guard provided a processional.

Monsignor James Dorney then opened the ceremony with an invocation.

"Give us the wisdom and courage to work tirelessly for a world that still seeks peace," said Monsignor Dorney, "and for a love that reigns among nations, and in the hearts of all."

Throughout the event there were notes of both yearning for peace and staying proud. Molinaro gave an impassioned speech that scolded politicians across the country who spent the day at fund-raisers instead of commemorations. He also offered strong words for the hijackers.

"We were attacked by barbarians who attacked us for no reason," said Molinaro, banging the podium with his palm. He described how his heart went out to a woman who approached him at one of his office's summer concerts, "crying like a baby," still traumatized a few weeks ago because the date was approaching, even though nine years had passed. He chastised those who would suggest that America had some fault in inviting the attacks.

"Don't ever apologize for America. America doesn't have to apologize," he said.

Bloomberg, who credited Molinaro with getting the memorial built, said along with the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C., the Staten Island sculpture was one of the most moving memorials he had ever visited.

"The images of that terrible morning I think are still fresh in all of our minds," said Bloomberg. "And the sense of the absence of so many loved ones is as real today as it has ever been. But if anything, it's a testament to how much they meant to all of us, and how cruelly and suddenly they were taken from us."

Broken up by several musical performances, the release of a group of white doves into the night sky, and speeches from the dais by Commissioner Cassano and City Council Speaker Christine Quinn, the still-grieving family members' memories bore out the mayor's comments.

"Daddy, I wish you were here to see us grow up," said a small boy wearing a fireman's cap, standing on his tip toes to reach the microphone. One woman spoke lovingly of her "opera-loving, cigar-smoking," husband who gave her "the best days of my life." Many finished their comments or the reading of Staten Island's dead with a simple mantra: "We will never forget."

After the sun's orange reflection had receded from the harbor, revealing the two piercing shafts of light into the sky that are annually turned on to remember the towers, the crowd walked between the sculpture's white walls to toss flowers and two wreathes into the ocean, many lingered, talking, hugging, and in some cases greeting, those they hadn't seen in a year's time.

Thomas Papasso, a former resident of New Springville who now lives in Monroe, N.J., remembered his brother Sal, who died in the terrorist attacks.

"My son was born just a few days after he died," Papasso said. "So it's a sad and a happy time for us."

Ms. Ciaccio, who wore an FDNY sweatshirt for her brother, a lieutenant, looked at the crowd milling around in the lights.

"I come here every year," she said. "It's not political. Today I want to let the anger and the fear subside. I want to remember our loved ones, and respect them."